love is not a victory march
by Exceeds Expectations
Summary: He's just a boy who fell in love with summer and she's just a girl who should've known better. Companion piece to Last Girl Standing's "every breath we drew was hallelujah"


_**A/N: **My entry for Men's Beach Volleyball in the Hogwarts Games! Written in conjunction with Alex, aka Last Girl Standing, who has this fic's sister on her profile, so you should go check that out! It's called "_every breath we drew was hallelujah_" and I sincerely hope you enjoy both of them!_

* * *

**1971**

His father tells him he's a man, he's grown up now, and sometimes men need to find their own way in the world. He hands him a fistful of galleons and pats him on the shoulder, telling him that Tom will be waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron with his room ready and his school supply list on hand.

His mother tells him he's her little boy, and sometimes little boys need mum just as much as they need to grow up. She hands him a bunch of homemade cakes and hugs him tightly, whispering in his ear that she loves him so very much and please don't ever, ever forget that.

And James Potter walks out of his front door at eleven years old and takes his first steps towards his new life.

* * *

On that first day, he hops off the Knight Bus, waves Ernie goodbye and wanders into the Leaky Cauldron with his hands trembling.

"Potter's son?" asks a gruff voice, and James turns to see a middle-aged man with sparse brown hair on his ageing head.

"Yes."

"Follow me," the man says, and James' assumes this is Tom and does as he's told.

* * *

His room is large and bare, with only a blue-duveted (and admittedly very comfortable looking) bed, a large wooden chest of drawers and a rickety old writing desk with a small, slightly unstable chair. It's comfortable enough for him to spend the next four weeks in, and so James is happy.

"Your list is on the desk. I shall leave you to it! Any problems and you know where to find me..." says Tom as he wanders back out the door. James nods at his back even though, no, he doesn't know where to find him, or even what he should do next.

He walks over to the desk, picks up his letter and reads.

And because there's nothing else to do, James goes shopping.

* * *

Diagon Alley is brighter and more packed than James has ever seen it. His parents used to avoid taking him in August (though it's the thirty-first of July, but he hardly thinks that matters).

"Too many students," his father would say. "Too much hustle and bustle."

How right he was, James thinks. He is just small enough to weasel his way through the crowds fairly easily, but not quite small enough to avoid the odd elbow that catches his head.

He is doing quite well barging through Flourish and Blotts, his arms wrapped tightly around a few new spellbooks and more than a few new Quidditch books, when he rounds a corner and _smack. _

"Ow! Watch it!" he shouts out, feeling his load slip from his grip and his feet slide out from under him. He hits the ground with a _thwack_ and a similar noise in front of him tells him that someone else fell, too.

He books scatter around him on the floor and he groans in annoyance. His glasses have flown from his face and now he has to palm the floor in an effort to find them.

"Watch it? You bumped into _me,_" snaps the voice of a little girl.

James puts his glasses back on, blinking as the pale figure facing him comes into focus. Before him sits a tiny slip of a girl with an irritated expression, too big eyes that are, James reasons, quite a pretty shade of grey. Her hair is tied up in delicate twists and knots and her skirt is neat and tidy, and James thinks that perhaps they could get along quite well.

"You were in the way! Who are you, anyway? And where are your parents? Aren't you like, nine?"

"Narcissa Black!" she snaps, folding her arms and glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "I'm eleven! I don't need my parents to be holding my hand all the time, unlike you!"

"A Black? Should've figured," James taunts. "You're all stuck up and crazy. The name's James Potter, by the way."

He scrambles up from the floor, gathering his books as he rises. When he straightens up, Narcissa is already standing there. She really is tiny, he muses. Harmless.

Then there is a sudden burst of pain as she punches him in the chest. His books clatter to the floor (_again_) and only serve to crush his toes. As he clutches his chest and grabs at his sore foot, James hears the sound of her tinkling laughter and decides that maybe they won't get along quite so well afterwards.

* * *

It's three days in and he's already cracking.

If he has to spend the rest of the summer here doing nothing, he's going to go mad. He's gotten all his school supplies, he's wandered around Diagon Alley and he's got nothing interesting left to do.

So naturally, he decides to torture Narcissa.

He sees her new shoes just lying there, and he can hardly resist an opportunity like that. He chucks a few dungbombs in them, laughing to himself as he goes down for breakfast.

When she joins him at the breakfast table, face sullen and angry, he asks loudly if she's farted.

"You know full well I haven't, James Potter," she all but growls.

"Whatever do you mean, Narcissa?" he asks, exuding innocence from every pore.

There is a loud scraping noise as Bellatrix, drags her chair across the floor. James whips his head around, wary of being told off by Narcissa's oldest sister.

"Oh, Potter. You're new at this, aren't you? When you like a girl, you shouldn't prank her! That'll only drive her away..."

"L-like her?" James cries, indignant. "I don't like her!"

"Bella!" Narcissa exclaims, but Bellatrix merely cackles, a dangerous glint in her eye.

James decides then that the Blacks really are insane.

* * *

**1973**

It becomes something of a ritual.

James returns home from Hogwarts, spends a month playing Quidditch with his father and being treated like a child by his mum and then they flag the Knight Bus for him, hand him some money and what constitutes as a month's supply of cakes, and kiss him goodbye.

He arrives at the Leaky Cauldron, Tom leads him to his room with a simple, "James," and a nod of the head, and James promptly retrieves his list and wanders into Diagon Alley to get his things.

* * *

When he's gotten everything except his new robes, James decides that he's worked hard enough today and maybe he should treat himself.

He has just sat down in (a very packed) Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour with his mint sundae (whose colour does not remind him of the eyes of any redhead ever), when Narcissa Black plops herself down across from him. He knows from one look at her smiling face that she is going to be an utter nightmare.

"What's wrong, Potter? Evans reject you..._again?"_

And, yes, there it is, the same bitter remarks from the pretty girl with the not-so-pretty mouth, and James just sighs and asks, ""Why are you even here, Black?"

"There's no other seats," Narcissa says with a shrug of her slender shoulders. "Honestly, it's not a surprise. You're always harassing Severus, and she obviously cares for him quite...dearly."

James narrows his eyes. He curls his lip into a sneer, his annoyance rolling from his words as he says, "Lily doesn't care for him! She feels sorry for him, that's all. Who could like Snivellus? The greasy git."

He throws his spoon down on the table, wincing slightly at the clatter it makes.

"He could be quite nice, if you weren't such an arse all time," Narcissa says, and James has to resist the urge to smack that stupid _wise_ look from her face. "She obviously likes 'the greasy git' more than you, Potter."

"Well maybe if _he_ wasn't such an arse he'd have a few more friends and Lily wouldn't have to pity him so much!" James cries, growing more and more frustrated at the glint of amusement in Narcissa's eyes.

"Whatever you say, Potter. It all comes down to this: Your precious "Lilyflower" hates you," she says with a smile, waving her spoon in front of her face as if she knows exactly what she's talking about.

"She does _not_ hate me. She just...doesn't know she likes me yet," James says unconvincingly. "If Snape weren't taking up so much of her time, maybe I could have a chance. Why does he even talk to her anyway? Thought all of your lot hated Muggleborns? Or does Snape realise how stupid that is?"

"She hates you." Narcissa says, as if reciting a fact. She nibbles calmly at her ice cream. "Besides, Snape's a half blood. So he isn't part of 'my lot'."

"Hate is a strong word. Lily doesn't hate me. Lily's too nice for hatred," James tries. His hands feel oddly empty, as if he should be twirling his wand or playing with his snitch. He tries rubbing his hands together, but settles on running his fingers through his already messy hair. "So Snape doesn't even fit in with your lot... Poor bastard. No wonder Evans feels sorry for him. Even a bunch of Slytherins wouldn't give him the time of day."

"Too nice for hatred? She threw you out a window!" Narcissa laughs, her eyes dancing with glee. James squirms uncomfortably. "It was the highlight of my day!"

"I- I fell. Look, that doesn't matter," he says hurriedly, waving his hands about. "What matters is that Lily is a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors stick with Gryffindors, okay? She'll realise that soon enough."

"Do you now?" Narcissa says with a roll of her (oh so pretty) eyes. "Wow, you're all nutters. If one was drowning, would you all drown too?"

"Don't be ridiculous," James scoffs. "We'd save the drowning one! How many of your little Slytherin buddies do you think would save you if your fell in the lake?"

"None. You fell, you should save your bloody self."

"And yet you're all so quick to cling to each other trying to scramble to the top, aren't you? That's the thing with Slytherins; even when they're being nice, you know they only care about themselves."

"At least we aren't idiots, unlike you stupid Gryffindors," Narcissa says. James can tell that he's getting to her now. Her voice is shaking slightly as she says, "Only seeing the best in people, that'll bite you all in the arse."

"It's not idiotic to care about people, Narcissa," James says quietly. "If anything, it's idiotic not to."

"It is idiotic to only trust people." she snaps back. "Giving them the perfect way to stab you in the back."

"Sometimes you have to take risks," James says, meeting her eyes.

"Not to the degree of utter stupidity." Narcissa scoffs, finishing off her ice cream and standing up. "I don't have time for this."

She storms off in a swish of pale robes and platinum blonde, and James is left stabbing at his sundae feeling suddenly very sick.

* * *

The next four weeks rush by, and somehow James finds that being around Narcissa is not quite as horrible as before.

It's as if they've come to some sort of agreement to just not care anymore. While they're here, in the safehouse that is the Leaky Cauldron, they are not a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, they are Narcissa and James, and, for once, that's enough.

On the final night there, the two end up shoving almost cold potatoes into their mouths and laughing at things that aren't even funny, because they've somehow fallen into the easy habit of laughing, and laughing feels good.

There is a tingle in the air, a whisper on the wind that warns them that there is a whole year before easy laughter can roll of their tongues this way, before Narcissa will flick him playfully, before James can fling cold peas at her head, before they can just be NarcissaAndJames.

Secretly, James thinks that Narcissa has never looked so pretty, even with peas in her hair and mashed potato smeared across her robes. She's smiling at him, in a _friendly_ way, and she's laughing and he's laughing and, as much as it pains him to say it, he's going to miss her.

So he's deliriously happy and more than a tad confused when she whispers goodnight and presses her lips to his cheek.

He barely chokes a, "G'night," before she's disappeared into the darkness and he's left outside his bedroom door clutching his cheek and wishing next summer would hurry.

* * *

**1975**

He waits for her in the dining room at midnight. His back rests against the wall in that corner, that unused corner that they have claimed as their own.

The house is silent, so he hears her before he sees her, dainty footfalls and light breaths.

"Hey, Black," he says playfully.

"Hey, Potter."

He opened his arms and she falls against him, hugging him to her tightly.

"What have you been doing?! You haven't mirrored with me all summer!"

He had given her a mirror at the end of last summer, but when he got back to Hogwarts and donned his mask red and gold, talking to Narcissa seemed wrong, traitorous.

"I've been busy," he mumbles and clutches her tighter.

Narcissa rolls her eyes.

"Hey, Narcissa..." he starts, and the jokes come and the laughter follows and it's like nothing has changed at all.

* * *

On the final night at the Leaky Cauldron, James finds himself sitting at the bottom of the stairs, thigh to thigh with Narcissa.

He isn't quite sure how they ended up here, and the lights have long since gone out, but still they still on the hard wooden staircase, legs touching, teeth chattering.

And yet it's wonderful, because this summer has been the best so far.

Their fights and squabbles melted into good natured teasing, and their pranks and tricks became more games of retaliation and less plans of revenge. For James, she's got that spark, the quick wit and the sharp tongue that Evans has got, and yet she's so different.

With Narcissa, he feels like he's with a friend. He doesn't worry about impressing her or her not liking him.

He just sits there beside her, cracking jokes and making fun of her family and asking questions.

"Your sister is insane though, you can't deny that!" he teases, though it's true.

"Bella's not insane, she's just...different, I suppose," says Narcissa, but even she rolls her eyes at the words. "Whatever, Potter. You're just jealous because you know she could kick your sorry arse."

James raises his eyebrows and says, mock seriously, "Now, Narcissa. We don't say things like that when we know they aren't true."

Narcissa shoves him and laughs, and James laughs back, and there is a brief moment of contentment as they sit and smile and think.

Narcissa rests her head on James' shoulder and sighs. Neither of them speaks for a moment. They listen to the stillness around them, the silence of a house of sleeping people. James can hear music somewhere in the distance, and he listens contentedly for a while, Narcissa still leaning against him.

"I miss our fights sometimes," James whispers.

Silence.

He looks down at Narcissa and feels a small smile tug at his lips. She is fast asleep, her eyelashes tickling her cheeks as they flutter in her sleep, her mouth opened just a tiny bit, her breathing slower than before.

She's even more beautiful when she's asleep, even more perfect.

With a muffled grunt, James stands up, hoisting Narcissa up in his arms like a damsel in distress. She'd hate this, he thinks, being this fragile, but just for once James wants to play the hero.

He carries her carefully up the stairs, swings open her bedroom door and finds her covers already peeled back. He walks to the bed and gently lays her down, laying her head back tenderly and watching how her hair catches the light of the moon even through the window on the other side of the room.

Slowly, James pulls the covers up over her feet, tucking her in, and he thinks that if she were awake she might punch him.

But she's not, and so James whispers, "Goodnight, Cissy," and kisses her softly on the forehead.

* * *

**1977**

The first night back is the kind of night that James just can't help but fall in love with.

The sky is dark and clear, and moon winks down at them, just shy of a perfect circle in the inky sky. The wind is light and James only notices it because Narcissa's curls dance around her shoulders, catching the light, and he longs to reach out and pull one curl until it straightens, just so he can watch it ping back into place.

The jokes flow easily and they are chuckling and giggling like fools. The light gleams off James' glasses and Narcissa fiddles with the ends of her hair. They lean against the entrance to Diagon Alley and James makes her laugh some more and Narcissa teases him and they fall back into the old routine a lot easier than they should.

He makes another joke and she laughs. He watches her throw her head back, listening to the peals of laughter that ring through the night air, and thinks that she has grown so very beautiful since the first time they met.

She's always been pretty, but when laughter lights up her face and she forgets to keep her guard up, she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

She stares at him for a tiny moment, and before James has time to question her, she moves.

She leans over and kisses him.

His arms fit perfectly around her waist as he pulls her closer.

James could swear that she's stealing his breath away, and when he thinks his head is too dizzy and his lungs too sore, he pulls back.

"What are we?" he whispers.

"I don't know," she whispers back.

* * *

A few night later, they sit outside at night-time, watching the stars strewn like glitter across the darkening sky. James holds Narcissa close, as if afraid that the gentle summer breeze might blow her away.

"Do you think it can stay this way?" Narcissa asks quietly, and even though there's hope in her voice, James knows that she's asking him to lie.

But he can't. He holds her tighter against him, running his hands along her back.

"See that? That's the Dog Star," he says, pointing towards the sky.

He thinks Narcissa understands that he can't answer. The words are stuck in his throat. She doesn't question further, just buries her head in the crook of James' neck and breathes him in.

"There's Andromeda," he says, poking her in the ribs and nodding towards the sky.

"I know where Andromeda is," she says. "And over _there..._that's Gamma Orionis. Better known as Bellatrix."

"Where's Narcissa then?" James asks, peering at the pinpricks of light that seem to stretch on forever.

"Nowhere. I'm not a star," she says with a smile. "I'm a flower. The Narcissus flower. Guess you have a thing for girls with flower names after all, eh?"

James chuckles lightly and glances down at her.

"You talk an awful lot for a flower," he murmurs, his lips ghosting against her forehead.

"Shut me up," she teases.

"Gladly."

And they kiss once again beneath the twinkling stars, all thoughts of sisters and flowers and unanswered questions gone, and James wishes he could stay here forever.

* * *

The final night, the _final_ final night, sees them outside the Leaky Cauldron under the stars once more. It's not quite midnight, but the sky already promises a beautiful tomorrow.

They both have things to say.

"Can I go first?" James asks. "I mean, you can if you want..."

"No, go ahead," Narcissa says.

James feels the excitement and the nervousness pool in his stomach, swirling together and making him giddy and sick and maybe even a little bit reckless and he says, "Narcissa, I lov-"

"James, this has to end! It can't continue!"

It's like a dagger to the heart. He feels his face fall and his eyes begin to sting, and he can see that this is hurting her, too.

"Why?"

She can't answer.

"One last kiss?" she whispers. "Please?"

He pulls her close and tries to tell her everything he needs to without words.

But it has to end, doesn't it?

"Narcissa..."

When she pulls back, he sees the whites of her eyes are tinged pink and her lashes hold the beginnings of tears. And with a _crack_, James is alone.

He wonders if falling in love should hurt this much. He wonders if her can save himself. He wonders if she's the only one who can save him, if she would.

"_You fell, you should save your bloody self_," he hears.

And he would, he really would, if she hadn't broken him so very completely.

* * *

(The strangest thing about that night? He never wonders why.

He finds out soon enough though.

But at least she looks happy on Lucius' arm.)


End file.
